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Topic: Beachcomber's Tales from the day (Read 80193 times)

HELP !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! as the original self confessed computer dummy - can I write the story up in say Word and then attach it on the forum? Just makes it easier for me to sit and compose the stories - maybe 2 or 3 in one evening and post them as required.

HELP !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! as the original self confessed computer dummy - can I write the story up in say Word and then attach it on the forum? Just makes it easier for me to sit and compose the stories - maybe 2 or 3 in one evening and post them as required.

TJ

Just type it up in word, then copy all the text and paste it in the post reply box.

to copy and paste, highlight all the text in word, hit ctrl + C, then click in the post reply box on DTT and press ctrl + V

My life has been blessed with "happenings" - I've been privileged to meet, work with and even be on first name terms with some of the legends of the automotive movement, both in the UK and the US. I've worked on some VERY high profile projects and most of my designs are still being produced.

I've had what might be termed a "full life" - made a lot of money - lost a lot of money - but always [ nearly ] had the help of a good woman - 1st one turned out to be a bitch - second was a soulmate, but not destined to last and now Mrs. B the 3rd - she's the one and next year [ February ] is our 30th Anniversary. Huh, and they said it wouldn't last.

It's said we ALL have a book in us - well, I probably have several, but one I AM writing [ and taking WAY too long ] is about the life [ very short ] and exploits of my Uncle Harold - who joined up for WW2 at 16, fought in North Africa [ Para ] and came back to fight through D-Day and beyond and died just 18 years old. See www.operationpaddle.com. for more info. That one takes priority and should be finished next year.

As far as a bike book is concerned, the biggest problem is that the first Mrs. B. torched ALL my photos, magazines and memoribilia from the late 50's through to the late 60's............................

That said, I WILL keep all the Beachcomber Tales together in a file !!

What IS an inspiration these days - is the enthusiasm leaping out of this forum - sure it HAS RAISED SOME ROSE TINTED GOGGLE MOMENTS FOR ME, BUT AS SOON AS THAT GOES TO BEING THE RAMBLINGS OF A BORING OLD FART - LET ME KNOW AND I'LL GRACEFULLY RETIRE MYSELF.

As far as a bike book is concerned, the biggest problem is that the first Mrs. B. torched ALL my photos, magazines and memoribilia from the late 50's through to the late 60's............................

Wow, she WAS a bitch!

Tell the stories, if for no other reason, just because there aren't many people with similar stories capable of spinning a good tale.

My dad has started doing a similar project. He was a follower and participant in the blues and folk scene in the 50's and 60's, and has some amazing stories. (Knocking Bob Dylan flat on his ass in the bathroom of a bar, playing softball with Dennis Hopper, waking from a peyote trip to find Allen Ginsberg on his sofa, only it was real, etc. etc.) My brother and I hounded him for years to write it all down. Now, every Christmas, we get another written chapter from him and it's the best gift of the year!

hey - my good pal Brian is currently doing his 4th. research trip to the US. His interest is also early Blues - and he's writing a book !

When he gets back [ next week ] how about I give you his e-mail address? Maybe your Dad and Brian will have some stories to swap? Small World eh?

The problem is that when - like your Dad - you've been there in the day and done the deed, it can sound like horrible name dropping to others. Then you just say - "Whaddafuck - I WAS there".

Like the time at Le Mans when we organised for Carroll Shelby to come over for his 35th. Championship winning anniversary and provided the car for him to drive. Highlight ? My driving a race Cobra with French TV cameraman aboard on the 2 display laps that Carroll did whilst TRYING to keep up with him for the filming - or was it sitting in the tent awning in the evening, with Carroll, Bob Bondurant and Pete Brock shooting the breeze whilst Mrs. B introduced all 3 of them to Pernod - oh shit what a night, couldn't buy it.

Here's Mrs.B with Bob Bondurant and Pete Brock - behind are the cars we supplied for Shelby and Bondurant to drive on the parade lap.

Actually, my brother and I called my dad out once about all the famous people he met and hung out with. Couldn't possibly all be true, we said.

He set us straight. In a nutshell, what he said was, in the 50's and 60's there were so few people willing to break out from convention that if you saw someone interesting across the street, you bought him a beer. These people weren't famous, they were just cool guys. Do it long enough and eventually you meet people who become famous. Fair enough.

Not all the stories were about famous people, like when he drove through a blizzard in a VW beetle with one headlight and no floor just to go see, I don't know, the best banjo picker he'd ever heard, or a girl, I forget.

Anyway, it's not hard to get my dad to swap stories, he'd love to talk with your friend.

Haha - talking of headlights - this Summer while staying at our place in Saxony we went to see a German biker pal for an evening of Schnapps and BBQ.

Driving home at 2.0 am the alternator decided to give out on my old Volvo T5 estate that I keep out there.

This was just as we'd joined the Autobahn and about 25 kms from home. All the electrics started giving up, so we decided to save power just for the ignition system - and turned everything off - including the headlamps !

Now then - heard that old Irish joke about driving home fast before you run out of petrol? Well in this instance it was relevant - so pedal to the metal - 125 mph+ with only the stars to guide us. Mrs. B and my English pal - didn't utter one word during the journey. We just managed to get to the turn off slip road for our village as the engine died completely. Talk about white knuckle ride.

"Driving home fast before you run out of petrol". Made me laugh and reminded me when I had the Manx on the road. I had a wide ratio gearbox and was searching for some close ratio gears. I found a pre-war Sturmey Archer box and it turned out to be an box from an Norton International. Close(ish) gears! Cool! A friend had a machine shop and was the local Norton guru. I made arrangements to go over one evening and swap out the gears. Sturmey Archer in a back pack and off I went. The exchange went smoothly. Norton took over Sturmey Archer and while, over the years, they changed the exterior appearance of the gearboxes the internals didn't change that much.

We got it back together about midnight and thats when th fun began. It wouldn't shift!!!! Take it apart. Check everything. Put it back together. No shift. Shit!!!! Repeat taking it apart and re-assembly a number of times. Still no shift. Eventually it hit us. The shift lever return spring has a slight bend in it. We had installed it backwards and when the outer cover was tightened it was snagging on the cover and wouldn't return the lever to the right spot!!!!!

About 4 a.m. we had it back together and shifting correctly. I headed for home about 20 miles away. I had a megga on the Manx but I made a simple baffle that went over the end of the megga, liberally drilled and secured by four sheet metal screws. It took the bark off it but didn't really do much about silencing it. Gardiner street in Dublin is lined with four storey Victorian buildings. As I was riding down it the baffle blew off. At that time 4 a.m. in Dublin meant you were alone. No traffic. So the bellows of the Manx were rattling beautifully off the buildings. I was living at the time in a small village called Dalkey. My parents lived in Dunlaoghaire which was a town between Dublin and Dalkey. On the outskirts of Dublin was a small town (suburb of Dublin really). When you approach it there is a sweeping left hander lined by a sidewalk and 10 foot high walls. It then sweeps right and drops down into the town center. At the bottom of the drop is the local police station and a set of traffic lighs. At night there was always one cop standing outside the station rocking on his heels just watching.

Figuring he would be there and an open megga was an invitation to visit the local magistrate I decided to simply blast through and hope for the best. Coming up to the left hander I wound it up, swept through , flicked right and tucked down on the tank. PC Plod had obviously heard me and was out in the middle of the road waving his flashlight frantically. As I came out of the right hander I looked up to see the lights were red! I blew the lights and went by him with a couple of feet to spare and just kept my head down.

My parents lived a couple of miles down the road. The coward I am I decided to dump the bike at Dad's house and take his car for the rest of the journey. I cut the engine and coasted into the driveway and parked the Norton at the side of the house. Before I had my helmet off the bedroom window opened and a voice said "I heard that son of a bitch at Blackrock!". I got the keys to his car and headed home. As I pulled out onto the main road a police car and bike went zipping by. I thought to myself I know where you're going but I ain't there.

A new baffle was made the next day and secured a lot better. I rode it over to another friends house to show off the close ratio gears and as I rode through Blackrock the cop on patrol stopped and stared at me as I waited for the light to change. I knew what he was thinking.

Awesome, I can't wait till I have saved enough to make the trip I have planned to rent a bike and ride through England, Scotland, Ireland, Wales, etc. It won't be a hopped up Norton but I will see the places on 2 wheels. The wife and I tried to do it last August as a friend of hers was being married in Glasgow, but we were just to broke to do it Love the stories, their great! When I make it over I will make sure to look you guys up to share a pint and some stories.

Don't look me up. I'm back home in Riverside, CA nice and warm. Most of the time I was there my only transport was the Norton. Not always with the Manx. It had a 500T Norton, a 650 Triumph, a 350 Norton over the years. But a lot of the time it was so cold it wasn't serious shrinkage but more like serious retraction. Sometimes it was so cold my balls would retract to the point I looked like I had three adams apples. If you do get over there you'll have a great time.